Ghost Variations
by Crazy-McWritesalot
Summary: "It was September 21st. Again. Already." And although Myka won't admit it, she misses HG. So she remembers what last September was like. Set after Yellowstone and before Myka comes back to the Warehouse. The rating will go up.
1. Intro

She had lost track of the passing of days. There, among all the piles of books her father had collected over the years, every day looked the same. And really, she wondered if she would have noticed the difference between today and yesterday hadn't she been forced to use the chip and pin reader to handle a transaction.

How she hated that young man, pushing the door of the store with confidence, a broad smile on his juvenile face, ten minutes only before closing time. It was already annoying on the best of days, having to postpone her tea and self-pity evening routine by a few minutes, but things had only gone worse when the boy had asked her if he could pay by card.

The date, displayed black on green on the screen of the device, had come like an electric shock.

It was September 21st. Again. Already. Somewhere in this world she had been so bent on destroying, Helena Wells was turning 145. Alone.

Myka's heart had stopped, just like her brain and every function of her body, and all she could see were the letters on the stupid card reader while she suddenly felt numbness settle in her fingers and legs.  
"You okay, miss?"  
The customer's concern shook her out of her trance-like state. She took a deep breath, felt the air burn her lungs as if she had been drowning, and cleared her throat, trying to get rid of the lump she could feel there. Then she flashed what she thought was a smile – But really looked somewhere between a grimace and a pout – to the young man.  
"Yeah, sure. Sorry. This gloomy weather is gonna be the death of me."


	2. Theme

She hesitated before finally deciding to let the stylus run free on the vinyl that had not been removed from Helena's gramophone before Mrs. F had sent it to Denver.

 _Cold night air burst in the room, brushing against Myka's overheated skin when she opened the window. She sighed and smiled. The day had been unbearable, both because of the heat and because the heat had forced her to spend most of her time with Pete and Claudia in the living room, where the only electric fan was._

 _She shivered when a second draft hit the back of her neck, along with the first notes of what she identified as the Ghost Variations, by Schumann. Her smile turned into a fond expression. Helena was back from her day out._

 _Barefoot, she tiptoed to Helena's room. The door was wide open. The room was bathed in darkness, only broken by the soft light of the moon showing through the open window. The music was coming from a gramophone, playing quietly for its owner who was laying on the bed. Helena's skin was so pale that even the darkest night couldn't have concealed her nakedness. Myka stood transfixed. What was she to do now that she was in the doorway, in front of this eerie vision?_

" _Are you decent?" She asked, timidly, whereas she already knew the answer._

" _That would be a first."_

 _Helena stretched, like a cat in the sun. She didn't react to being walked in on in a rather intimate moment. But then again, Helena was not the kind to be ashamed of her own body._

" _I thought the house was empty." She explained, taking her sweet time to cover her modesty with the thin cotton bed-sheet._

" _No. I stayed behind. I wanted to check on you." Myka confessed. "I get that you didn't want to celebrate your birthday but you didn't have to hide all day, you know?"_

" _I suppose I should thank Wikipedia for that lack of intimacy. I'm alright. As you can see." Helena answered._

 _Myka didn't see a smile on Helena's face, and there was a clear lack of the usual spark that tainted every one of her sentences. To Myka, it was the clear sign the writer was not alright.  
"You mean, despite the fact that you're listening to the theme and variations that Schumann wrote while dying miserably in an asylum?"_

 _For a split second, it seemed that each and every one of Helena's muscles contracted in surprise. But when the old woman looked at Myka, the young agent sensed rather than saw she was amused at how she always seemed to know everything, and the pale body went limp again. The atmosphere was bearable then, and a hint of a smile ghosted on H.G.'s face. The ice was broken, Myka was in._


End file.
